


Burning Up The Weight of The Air

by fourfreedoms



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-17
Updated: 2011-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:48:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourfreedoms/pseuds/fourfreedoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and David go to the quiet of the theater to escape the heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning Up The Weight of The Air

It was so hot outside it didn’t feel like there was enough room for him under the weight of the air. His trousers itched at the small of his back, friction and sweat irritating the skin. When Jack pulled him in through the back stage door of Medda’s theater and up to the dusty and still rafters, he didn’t even protest that he had to be home in an hour.

He was so uncomfortable he was almost angry.

“Jeez, Davey, you’re shaking,” Jack said. He’d spread himself out on a dusty cloth tarp and had to crane his head to look at David.

He fanned himself with the last unsold edition, too cross to even consider going outside and selling it. He huffed out a sigh that felt like a Sisyphean effort and slumped down next to Jack. “I hate it when it gets like this.”

He watched the rise and fall of Jack’s chest. His well-worn red shirt was plastered to him with dark sweat. His skin even seemed to glow with it, eyelashes stuck together like he’d come in from the rain not the evening summer sun. Jack looked quite ready to fall right to sleep, completely at ease.

David felt dirty and sticky, a bit like he’d melt or leave a thin patina of grime on everything he touched. He envied Jack.

“Quit thinking so loud,” Jack said softly, eyes shut to the gold light spilling in through the cracks in the caulking on the roof. David desperately wished for the rain the humidity promised.

“I should get home,” he said, perfunctorily.

Jack shifted, but didn’t even bother to persuade him to stay. They both knew he wasn’t going anywhere. David sighed, and Jack raised his eyebrows over shut lids before finally cracking them open to look at him. David stared down at him, trying to figure out what the shifting color of his eyes were.

“What?” Jack asked, turning his head to get a better look at David, his hair falling across his forehead. David shrugged and wondered what Jack would do if he brushed it back, but was saved from finding out when Jack blew it out of his eyes. “Davey, why you looking at me like that?”

David started a little. He cleared his throat and looked intently at the pile of odds and ends: broken flats, rolled up drops, busted kerosene lamps stashed against the far wall. They were covered in dust like it was the waters of lethe—swamped in forgetfulness so that nobody even bothered to throw them out. “Like what?”

Maybe he could wipe the dust up with his finger tips and spread it over Jack’s forehead so that he’d forget where this conversation was going. Jack made a noise in the back of his throat. “Like the way you look at me sometimes—” Jack was clearly not forgetting “—like I’m not supposed to see.”

David felt his face flame, color sweeping down his body like brushfire. Jack’s face was the blank slate of a black board, empty of answers. He tilted his chin up like he waiting to hear what David had to say.

“I’m not sure—” David stalled, eyes sweeping down away from Jack’s and settling on his shoulder, where the fabric of his shirt was pulled tight across broad muscle. His mother would say Jack was well-formed.

Jack shifted again, leaning up on his elbow. “Like that.” And then it was only a little stretch further for him to reach David’s mouth with his own. It seemed like the world went quiet. The noise of the outside ceased slipping past the theaters walls, even the creak and sigh of the floor boards went away, until all David could hear was the sound of Jack’s fingertips as they ran across fabric of his sleeve.

He thought perversely that he should really be getting home now, but Jack’s lips parted against his. As ever, it was a street Jack had already rushed back and forth down, and David was left nervous at the place where it started, unsure of the way.

Jack huffed out a breath, more of a breathy chuckle, and tugged David out of his awkward half-bent sitting position to lie across him. David let him.

Acquiescing to Jack’s direction, he found himself tasting the dip of Jack’s plum lower lip with his tongue. Jack reached around his body and heaved their hips together by his belt. David bit down on Jack’s lip when his own hardness met the beginnings of Jack’s. He got ready to stutter out apologies for the gaffe, but Jack arched underneath him, worked a thigh between David’s legs like he was ready for more.

David smelled sweat—his and Jack’s, the air thick with salt. He sank his hand into Jack’s sleek hair as Jack’s nimble fingertips skipped over his damp shirt, to the hollow of his spine, and finally to the soft swell of his buttocks. He hissed and shuddered when Jack’s light touch skimmed right down to his tailbone.

Jack kissed him again, tongue teasing David’s like it was a game, a race down Broadway. David couldn’t help himself, he rutted against Jack’s thigh, pressing and straining while Jack made soft sounds in his throat that David swallowed like water. Jack kept delicate hands at his hips that pulsed and tightened when David did something right. Tip of his tongue at the smooth inner flesh of Jack’s mouth, fingers glancing across his throat, pelvis grinding into Jack’s cock.

Low in his belly and laced right into his spine, fire set a second time. David moaned helplessly when Jack palmed his ass and hauled him in tighter—so much pressure on his dick. This time the sweat and friction was a help rather than a hindrance. David was so caught up in it that he just breathed in the air that Jack exhaled, filling his lungs with him.

Finally, he came in a rush of wetness against Jack’s thigh, hands punishing on Jack’s biceps. Jack let his mouth go so that David could stare down at him.

“First kiss?” Jack asked, cheeks dark with blood, and eyes dark.

“Strictly speaking that was more than a—”

Jack rolled his eyes. He was still hard. David swallowed, rolling off Jack to look at it.

“It’s not a test,” Jack whispered into his ear like there was no way he could fail.

David moaned again, the soft gravel of Jack’s voice reminding him of that fire burning out in his belly. He ran a tentative hand down Jack’s body to cup Jack through the heavy flannel of his pants. Jack’s mouth opened, but no sound escaped. His lashes fluttered against his cheeks. David couldn’t help a smile. He pressed down with the heel of his palm, fingers curling until he could get the measure of him.

Jack’s pelvis lifted off the floor and the arm David had trapped with body tightened around him. Jack pressed his face into his own shoulder as David’s hand fought past the border of his belt to get a good grip on him. It was easy at this angle to pretend he was just jerking himself off, but he was braced on his side, palm slick with sweat, lungs catching on his breath like it was his own orgasm he was racing towards rather than Jack’s.

Jack arched again when David’s thumb pressed just right over the head. His collarbones were beading with sweat and David bent his head to taste it. Jack’s muscles all locked up then, but he finally opened his eyes to stare at David. It was a stare fraught with meaning, but David wasn’t sure he knew how to interpret it all. Jack started to breathe again when the first crack of thunder rent their unintentionally constructed reverie.

David peered up at the ceiling. The gold seams of light were no longer showing through. The sky was gray with the prayed for rain. David wiped his hand on his thigh and looked back down at Jack, who was breathing steadily, hand resting on his stomach.

“My arm’s falling asleep,” he told David.

“Oh, sorry.” David scrambled off in a hurry, but Jack made no effort to move, so he settled beside him. “I don’t know how I’ll get home,” he finally said tentatively. Maybe they shouldn’t have done that. Maybe Jack had only done that because David looked at him. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe.

“Wait it out.” Jack pillowed his arms behind his head.

“My parents will worry about me,” David said, biting his lip.

“No they won’t, you’re with me,” Jack replied simply, face smooth like he was already asleep. And like that, David realized there was no reason to be anxious over maybes.

  
Yeah, that's pretty much all I have to say...


End file.
